The Space Clown

When caught in
The romantic comet
Of the moment
  

I touched her pixied face
And said,
I wish I could make love to
You on 3 million different planets
All at once
She pixeled a look so scientific
And said,
Oh don't clone around with me






Previously published in
Right Hand Pointing and
Abandoned Towers Magazine



The Cat's Scientist

Scratch, scratch, scratch;
C'm'on,
Open the cubical.

I patter past his carbon-based legs,
Rushing, meowing all the way to my feeder
Already full, waiting to be lapped and crunched.

But I'm the droided prince of cats so I
Reverse, nose and chin his cyrexed shins,
Meow into his lowered hand;
Impatiently prowl around his space boots
Until he stumbles and almost falls.

Finally he wises up,
Grabs the half-empty receptacle
From the immaculate shelf,
Shakes it noisily in my pussed face,
Then pretends to dump more pastel fare
Into my tempting container;

Swiftly I gobble it up
As if it were the last bowl on Mars.

What did he mumble about Pavlov?



Previously published in  
Abandoned Towers Magazine and
Widowmoon Press

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